Page 1 of Taming the Highland Beauty

Prologue

Dunvegan Castle, Scotland

Tuesday, April 30th, 1743

The laughter of Clan MacLeod drifted through the afternoon air as Gille Dubh looked on from the back of the crowd gathered to welcome Rosalyn and Keiran home from whatever adventure they had been on for the past two days. Gille smiled as she caught a glimpse of Rosalyn and Keiran emerging from the old keep, unharmed. These two had overcome so many obstacles, even death, to be together in this life.

With her next breath, a pang of longing pierced her. How she craved belonging to a family the way Rosalyn, the newest member of the MacLeod clan, did; as her sister, Aria, had before her. Perhaps there was hope for Gille in the future to be a part of a clan like the MacLeods?

Suddenly, a cold hand clamped over her shoulder. Gille gasped, whirling around to find Oberon, King of the Fairies, his face twisted in a cruel smile. “Enjoying the festivities, little traitor?” His voice dripped with amusement.

Panic flooded Gille as memories of her attempt to destroy the fairy king in Fairyland flashed before her. “Your Majesty. I meant you no harm,” the fairy stammered.

“No harm?” Oberon tilted his head, searching her face. “You sought to kill me. You used your magic to send me into the shadow realm.” He raised his hand, and a malevolent green light pulsed from his fingertips. Pain flared in Gille’s chest. A coiling sensation tightened around her heart. Her magic was useless against him. Frantically, she looked at the others to see if anyone noticed Oberon’s presence. But they all simply laughed and talked to each other as though nothing untoward was happening in their presence.

“They cannot see you. Not any longer,” Oberon said with an evil smile. “Since you almost destroyed me, I will not be so kind in my turn. No, not death for you. Instead, I will curse you, Gille. You shall live the rest of your days alone in the woodlands of the human realm,” Oberon declared. “The joy you so desperately crave shall forever remain just beyond your grasp.”

“Nay,” Gille cried out.

“And you shall bear the mark of your beastly behaviour,” he said waving his hand before her face.

Gille could feel the bones of her face shifting, contorting. She brought her fingers up to feel that her cheekbones were now elongated, her nose flattened. “What have you done?”

“Only what you deserve.” Oberon laughed. “Since I am not the beast you are, I will give you one boon by allowing you to leave the woodlands for a short time—seven days at any one time, but no longer—just long enough for you to remember what you are missing. If you do not make it back to a growing, vibrant forest before sunset on the seventh day, you will turn into a tree.” The light intensified, tendrils of it wrapping around Gille, tearing at the very fabric of her being. Then as abruptly as it began, it was over, and Oberon was no longer at her side.

Gille slumped to the ground at the base of an old, moss-covered beech tree, finding herself not at Dunvegan, but in the isolated woodlands beyond. She could still hear laughter coming from the castle, but now it sounded like a distant, mocking echo. She was truly alone, condemned to wander the woodlands, yearning for a happiness that could never be hers.

Chapter One

The Woodlands around Dunvegan Castle, Scotland

Saturday, April 25th, 1744

The damp Scottish air brushed Gille’s cheeks as she peeked out from her hiding place near the base of the ancient moss-covered tree. The dense canopy of the forest loomed before her. The midday sun filtered through the leaves overhead in dappled shards, reminding her of both the freedom she longed for and the entrapment she endured. Each rustle of leaves, each snap of a twig, sent a jolt through her.

Anxiety gnawed at Gille as she adjusted the hood of the cloak that had been her constant companion since she had left the fairy world behind her. Her cloak, a patchwork of moss, leaves, and vines woven onto a base of thin, supple leather, felt like a mockery of comfort. It camouflaged her, helping her to blend into the wilderness, but nothing could hide the hammering of her heart within her.

Even so, beneath the fear, a fierce determination burned. She was no stranger to the forestland around Dunvegan Castle or the men who came to the woods with far more frequency since word had spread about how she and her sister, Aria, had rescued Keiran MacLeod from Fairyland. These men had learned she was now forced to live in the forest, to never leave its protection for more than seven days or she would turn into a tree herself, gnarled, trapped, alone for the rest of her life, all because of Oberon’s curse.

Yet men from the surrounding villages still came to the woods to trap her like a beast, to try to force her to use the little magic she still possessed for their own purposes, no matter the cost to herself. Over the past year, what they never seemed to pass on to each other was how many times they had failed to trap her, here deep in the woodlands.

Gille’s grip tightened around the edges of her cloak, pulling it more tightly around her. A disguise. A lifeline. She had chosen this spot, a natural choke point in the forest, for a reason. Her enemy never expected resistance, not here, not from a lone figure seemingly one with the foliage.

She closed her eyes, blocking out the sound of the birds singing overhead and the constant hum of the hidden animals and insects around her. Instead, she pictured herself training for this moment, recalling the hours she had spent both in Fairyland and in the human realm, honing her reflexes and silent movements. A single misstep, a single sound, could spell disaster. But Gille would not give her enemies that satisfaction. She had made herself a whisper in the woods, a predator waiting for its prey.

Taking a deep breath, she forced the tremor from her hands. Fear was a luxury she could not afford. Here, in the heart of the forest, under the watchful gaze of the ancient trees, Gille became an extension of the wild, a guardian waiting to strike. But instead of stomping masculine footsteps, Gille heard laughter echo through the trees, a bittersweet reminder of the life she could no longer have.

Suddenly, a whimper separated itself from the other sounds. Gille peeked through the foliage concealing her to see a young girl, no older than six, clutching a tattered doll. Her blond hair was tangled with leaves, and tears welled in her bright blue eyes. Another lost child.

The girl’s vulnerability tugged at something deep within Gille. Despite the curse that bound her to these woods, she could never turn her back on a child in need. She certainly knew what it was like to feel alone, isolated, and afraid. She would not wish that on her worst enemy, let alone an innocent child. She had to help the little one find her way home. The risk of becoming trapped in the form of a tree seemed inconsequential when compared to the despair of a child separated from her family.

Slowly, Gille pushed back the hood of her cloak as she stood, not wanting to frighten the child further. Still hidden by the foliage, she plucked a few leaves from her hair and set her cloak aside at the base of the tree before stepping into the dappled light. “Do not be afraid, little one,” she cooed softly, walking towards the crying child with slow, measured steps.

The little girl did not seem to hear. She kept walking in circles as tears raced down her cheeks, then she cried all the harder when she tripped over a gnarled root and fell onto her knees.

The need to help spurred Gille out of her usual reserve as she raced to the child’s side. “Are you hurt?”

The girl screamed and reared back, rocking back on her buttocks as she stared at Gille with wide blue eyes. Her tears vanished but fear now replaced her sorrow.